Faux Pas
by ImaLateBloomer
Summary: Although Christopher Foyle went to America for a specific reason, what else might have happened to him while he was there? Possibly something like this…
1. Chapter 1

**FOYLE'S WAR- FAUX PAS- CHAPTER ONE**

Disclaimer- _Foyle's War is the creation of Anthony Horowitz. It is brilliant television and the actors are wonderful. However, Rachel Roberts is a product of my own imagination._

_I want to say a big thank you to Giulietta C for answering a question that helped me in writing this story!_

* * *

Although Christopher Foyle went to America for a specific reason, what else might have happened to him while he was there? Possibly something like this…

Early 1946- New York City

Rachel Roberts ran furiously to board the train before it began to move out of Grand Central Station. The final call for her train had been made as she paid for a book at one of the terminal's several newsstands. She'd spent far too long looking for just the right one to buy. She jumped up into her assigned passenger car just before the conductor closed the door and the train pulled away from the station.

Rachel landed in her seat with an un lady -like "plop", loud enough to draw the attention of the man seated across from her. He looked over the newspaper he'd been reading to see a breathless, young woman with dark auburn hair holding a handbag in one hand and a book in the other. Her hat was askew and long tendrils of hair had escaped from its confines. As her breathing slowed, she closed her eyes and gave thanks to Heaven that she hadn't missed the train.

"_Green, her eyes are green," _the man observed to himself. "_Probably the same age as Sam._" Unlike Samantha Stewart, this young woman was short, probably no more than 5 feet tall. An amused half smile spread across face for the briefest of moments when he noticed that the toes of her shoes barely touched the floor.

Without intending to, Rachel fell asleep. As her body relaxed, her hands released their hold, first on the book and then on her handbag. Any minute gravity would gain the upper hand and they would certainly fall from her lap. Unsure of how soundly she was sleeping, he was afraid he might startle her if he tried to keep them from falling.

The train rounded a curve and put the matter beyond question when both the book and the handbag hit the floor. The book slid around and came to rest under his seat. The contents of her handbag – a tube of lipstick, comb, embroidered handkerchief and wallet- made a rolling procession down the aisle of the car. He put the newspaper down and leaned forward to rise from his seat to reach under it and retrieve the book. His effort was met by a stunning smack to his forehead by a hard object. A few seconds passed before he realized that the hard object was the young woman's forehead. She had leaned forward at the same instant and collided with him.

" Bloody hell!" His head began to throb and he hesitated to move lest it started hurting more than it already did.

"Ow! What the he…heck?" Rachel opened her eyes. She was nose to nose with a stranger and a man at that! "Uh…ah…wha…happened?" She blinked several times but didn't move away as an odd thought raced through her head. "_Mmm…his eyes are a lovely shade of blue. Oh my God! What am I doing? He must think I'm an idiot!"_

As she backed away from him, the young woman stammered, "Oh Sweet Jesus! I'm so…so sorry Mister…"

"Foyle," he responded, leaning back into his seat while rubbing his forehead.

His voice was pleasant and kind, considering what she'd just done to him and she noticed that his accent was British. Rachel wondered if she had really butted heads with him or fallen down a rabbit hole. "Huh?"

"Foyle," he repeated, growing concerned that the young woman had gotten the worst of their cranial collision. "Miss, are you alright?"

She rubbed the goose egg that was beginning to form on her forehead. "I guess so. My daddy said I was hard headed." When Rachel noticed that Foyle's gaze had remained steady on her, she felt her face grow hot and red with embarrassment. Tears began to form in her eyes and she blinked hard to keep them at bay.

"_Quite an interesting shade of crimson. Never saw anything like it before. Wonder if she always blushes like this when embarrassed?" _He handed her his handkerchief. "Here, I think you might need this. Your name, by the way?"

She answered with a muffled and barely audible, "Rachel…Rachel Roberts" and then wiped her moist cheeks with his handkerchief. Once finished, Rachel held the linen square in her hand, uncertain what to do with it so she began to nervously twist it around her fingers.

"_An aspirin would not go amiss right now. I wonder if Rachel Roberts' head hurts as much a mine._" He gingerly touched his forehead and felt it for any swelling. It was tender, but not swollen. "Miss Roberts?"

Not ready to look him in the face, she made a close study of her hands and answered, "Yes?"

"Do you need an aspirin?" He rubbed his head and continued, " I know I do. I'll look for the conductor and see if he can get us some."

Rachel finally looked up at him. The embarrassment she felt started to recede, the heat of it finally leaving her face. Just as it seemed she'd finally calmed down, an unbidden hiccup betrayed her. She saw him trying to keep a straight face to the hide his amusement and closed her eyes tight, willing her face not to turn red again. "Yes, thank you. I could use an aspirin."

After he got up to search for the conductor, Rachel opened her eyes. What once promised to be a pleasant train ride from New York to Washington had turned into a disaster. She wondered what Mr. Foyle's opinion of American women must be now that he'd literally bumped heads with one. What was the worst part of the whole sorry little episode was that he was, at least by her guess, a good deal older than her and probably thought she was just a clumsy kid. If he'd been a man her age, she felt she might have been able to laugh and joke about what happened. Well, there was little she could do about it other than apologize, which she'd already done.

Foyle returned a few minutes later with the aspirin and two glasses of water. Rachel took two of the aspirin tablets with one gulp of water and sputtered as one of the tablets didn't quite make it down her throat. Finally, the cursed thing went down and she took a long, slow sip of water to make doubly sure of it.

"_Wonder if she does everything so suddenly? Could come to harm that way."_ He dismissed the thought with a slight shake of his head. Why should he be so concered about a young woman who accidentally bumped heads with him?

"I was wondering where my book went?" Rachel's question stirred him from his thoughts.

Foyle bent over and retrieved the book from under his seat. As she reached to take it from him, he noticed a long, puckered scar on her right hand. His fingers accidentally brushed against it and she pulled back. He inclined his head toward her hand. "I'm sorry Miss Roberts, have I hurt your hand?"

"No, it really…doesn't… hurt anymore. I guess I'm just self conscious about it. Don't know why, it's been there for nearly five years." Rachel immediately let the subject drop; it was too painful to relive the memories of how the scar came to be. "Now that I've got my book, what about my handbag?"

He chewed the inside of his cheek before answering her question. "May not be quite as easy to locate as the book. When it fell out of your lap it sprung open and the contents are scattered all over this car."

She stood up and swayed, almost falling in his lap. Foyle reached out to grab her, but Rachel righted herself without his assistance and then went out into the aisle to search for her handbag and its contents. She found the handbag first and proceeded to look for the other items. As she knelt down in her search, he lost sight of her a moment and was beginning to wonder if she had passed out on the floor. To his great relief, after a few minutes she popped back up, triumphantly holding her handbag. "I found everything but the lipstick. No great loss. Didn't like the color anyway."

Foyle quickly got up and lead Rachel back to her seat. He wanted no more falls, bumps or accidents of any kind that involved the young woman in his proximity. Maybe they could both sit in their respective places and simply converse. Or he would return to reading his newspaper and she would…What would she do?

She waited for him to say something, anything. When she opened her mouth to speak, Rachel promptly clamped it shut, petrified of making a verbal faux pas to compound the physical one she'd already made by bashing heads with the man. "_Oh say something Mr. Foyle. Anything. Like "nice weather we're having" or "good thing that the train's on schedule"._

Anything that Christopher Foyle might have anticipated happening that day had been eclipsed by his sudden encounter with the young woman seated across from him. The copy of the _New York Times _he'd been reading before she bounded onto the train lay neglected on the seat next to him. What on earth could he talk to her about? With Sam he had something in common- police work. Making casual conversation with a woman half his age and an American at that had not been on his agenda that morning as he boarded the train; there were more serious matters calling for his attention.

Rachel decided to relieve him of the burden of starting the conversation. She decided that she'd already made a fool of herself with the man, why worry about how he would respond to her? "I'm headed to Washington. What's your destination, Mr. Foyle? If you don't mind me asking."

"I don't. And I'm going to Washington as well."

"I see. Will this be your first visit there?" As soon as she finished the question, Rachel could have kicked herself. _What a dumb question!_

"Yes."

"Me, too." Rachel now wished she'd kept her mouth shut. "_Oh God, this is awkward. Should I continue to ask him questions or just hush? Oh well, I give up. I tried. Best not make things worse." _She closed her eyes and wished that she could evaporate. Why did she feel so nervous around him and why should she care what he thought of her? They would both be off the train and out of each other's lives forever soon enough.

When Rachel closed her eyes, Foyle took it as a sign that she had nothing more to say. For some reason, this disappointed him. Her simple questions held the promise of an easy, casual conversation; something he desperately needed to take his mind off the reason he'd come to the States, if only for a little while.

**This was certainly a memorable meeting for both Rachel Roberts and Christopher Foyle; one they are not likely to forget! **

**Thanks for reading my first foray into the world of **_**Foyle's War**_** fanfiction. **

**More to come.**


	2. Chapter 2

**FOYLE'S WAR- FAUX PAS- CHAPTER 2**

Disclaimer- _Foyle's War is the creation of Anthony Horowitz. It is brilliant television and the actors are wonderful. However, Rachel Roberts is a creation of my own._

Union Station terminal in Washington, DC was opened in 1907. During the Second World War as many as 200,000 people passed through it in a single day.

* * *

When Rachel closed her eyes she only intended to shut out the world, particularly Mr. Foyle, until the train arrived in Washington. However, sleep claimed her once more and a memory buried deep in her subconscious came to the surface as a hazy dream.

_Saturday- December 6, 1941_

"_It matches your eyes. Let me buy it for you. Consider it an early Christmas present and…" He stopped mid sentence to kiss her. The proprietress of the shop cleared her throat and the couple quickly disconnected from the kiss. "Wear it next Saturday, O.K.?"_

"_I sure will, Jimmy._ _Can't wait for that day to come."_

_Jimmy planted a kiss on her forehead. "Me, too. It's gonna be a long, long week." He looked down into her green eyes and smiled. "But it'll be worth the wait."_

_Not caring if the old bat who ran the hat shop approved or not, Rachel wrapped her arms around Jimmy's waist and rested her head on his chest. "Yeah, it sure will."_

After several attempts to resume reading the newspaper, Foyle gave up and tossed it on the seat next to him. There was nothing else to do but think about why he'd come to America or watch the young woman across from him as she slept. He opted for the second course of action.

Although asleep, there was nothing that appeared to be relaxed about her. Her hands tightly grasped the arms of her seat and a combination of grimaces and frowns flickered across her face. She tossed her head from side to side in what seemed like an attempt to cast off whatever unpleasantness was causing her such great distress while she slept. One toss too many caused her hat to fall off. He caught it in the palm of his hand just before it hit the floor. The label inside it immediately drew his attention. It wasn't the hat maker's name that caught his eye; it was the location- Honolulu. Rachel Roberts was a long way from the hat's origin.

Foyle's study of her hat was interrupted by a loud whimper and a cry of "it's all I have left, can't lose it, can't lose it!" Slowly, Rachel opened her eyes and lifted her right hand to touch her head, reaching for her hat. Panic set in as she realized it was no longer there. "Where's my hat? Oh God! Where is it?"

It quickly became obvious to Foyle that the hat was more than an article of clothing to the young woman. The panic in her voice told him that it connected her with something or someone she'd lost. He gently called to her, "Miss Roberts, I have your hat. No harm has come to it."

"Oh, thank God! I thought I'd lost it. Thank you." Rachel took the hat from his outstretched hand; carefully placing it on her lap. She stoked it lovely and it seemed that she was making sure it was really there. _"Mr. Foyle must think I'm crazy. Maybe I am."_

He inclined his head towards the object in her lap and pbserved, "That hat must mean a lot to you."

She looked up at him, her green eyes shining with tears. "Yes, yes it does. It was a gift from a…friend a long time ago."

Although he was officially "retired", he was and would always be a policeman. Foyle knew he was already interested in Rachel Roberts and there would be no going back. She seemed troubled and vulnerable, but not weak. He would be reluctant to part company with her once they reached Washington. Did she need protecting or something else? He wasn't sure, but the more he thought about it, the more uneasy he felt about leaving her alone. "_This is not the reason I came to America. I have no obligation to her whatsoever."_

"_Really sir? You think so? You're already obligated and you know it! " _Foyle sighed and ran a hand across his forehead as if he could make that voice go away. That _was_ Sam's voice in his thoughts. Now he wondered if he were going mad.

"Mr. Foyle?" Rachel called out to him, but he seemed to be preoccupied. "Sir?"

The voice that called him "sir" the second time wasn't in his mind. It came from the woman seated across from him. "_Not one bit like Sam, short, dark hair, green eyes, different accent…and yet… Come on Foyle, pull yourself together and answer the young woman."_

He made a point to focus on her eyes and answered, "Yes?'

"Just wanted to thank you again for "catching" my hat. I would have been devastated if it had been lost. It's silly; I know it's just a hat."

He chewed on his bottom lip for a second before responding, "Not silly at all. It seems to have a special meaning for you."

She looked out the window for a moment and then turned back to face him. "Yes, yes it does." Rachel changed the subject. "I wonder how long it will be before we arrive in Washington."

"Shouldn't be long," he told her. "While you were sleeping the train stopped to let off passengers in Baltimore."

She raked her fingers through her hair and sighed, "Oh good. I'm so ready to get off this train, although I shouldn't complain. This is just a "jump, skip and hop" compared to the cross country train ride I took a few years ago. As a girl in school I saw maps of the United States in textbooks, but I didn't realize how big this country really is until I traveled across it on a crowded train that took three days to get from San Francisco to home."

Where was home for Rachel Roberts? From the sound of her accent, she wasn't a native of New York. Somewhere in the South was Foyle's guess.

She read his mind. "I'm from the Holy City."

Foyle reacted to this information with a raised eyebrow and a puzzled look, causing Rachel to laugh. "Oh, I'm sorry. I should have been more straightforward. I'm from Charleston, South Carolina. People call it the "Holy City" because there are so many churches there."

"_That smile. Glad to see a little light in those green eyes." _He returned her smile with one of his own. "I'm glad you clarified where that the "Holy City" was Charleston. I was about to question my knowledge of world geography."

"Oh Mr. Foyle, I'm so sorry for the confusion," Rachel told him in a solemn tone that didn't sound exactly sincere.

"No, you're not. You enjoyed it." He decided that he would tease her a little bit if it would keep the smile on her face and the light in her eyes a little longer. They certainly suited her better than the panic and sadness he'd seen earlier.

"_Lord have mercy girl! Is he flirting with you? Well…why don't you flirt right back? Won't matter anyway dearie; soon you'll be off the train and never see him again." _ Rachel knew that voice. It was temptation with a capital T; encouraging her to be just a little bit short of naughty. She bit her lip to keep from grinning. A second voice invaded her thoughts, telling her, "_He's old enough to be your father. Seems nice enough, but you don't want him to get the wrong impression, do you?" _

She mentally swatted away the second voice and followed the first one's lead. Rachel shrugged. "Yes, I confess I did. Been a long time since I've caused a man any sort of confusion. The look on your face was priceless."

He slumped just a little bit in his seat, crossing his arms and chewed on his bottom lip while he formulated what he would say to her next. "_It's been years since I've played this game." _He shrugged and thought, "_Well, in for penny, in for a pound."_

"Miss Roberts, I…" He was interrupted by the conductor's announcement that they were pulling into Union Station.

"Yes Mr. Foyle, you were saying...?"

"Uh, um...looks like we've finally arrived in Washington." He wasn't sure if he was delighted or disappointed to be interrupted by the conductor.

Rachel was relieved at first and then a wave of sadness swept over her unexpectedly. She would never see this man again and for some reason she didn't understand, that was an undesirable state of affairs. "_At least I'll have this "souvenir" on my forehead to remember him by for a few days." _A sigh sounding like a balloon deflating escaped her lips, followed by a frown that she didn't realize was there.

"_Oh, don't do that. Miss Roberts…Rachel, don't frown! It's becoming deuced difficult to leave you. Just don't do that. Need to make sure you're alright. Just… don't… frown anymore!" _Foyle proceeded to make busy by gathering up his newspaper, coat and hat. He needed the distraction to force himself to get up, get off the train and leave her.

Rachel stood up while he was still seated to avoid another "collision" with Foyle. She placed her handbag on her arm and grabbed her coat and hat. "Well Mr. Foyle, I'm glad I had the opportunity to meet you. I'm just sorry that it was in such a dramatic fashion." At the mere mention of the incident, she felt her face turn red.

By this time, Foyle was standing up and looking down at her. He realized that it was a rare occasion when he wasn't looking eye to eye with a woman. This fact and her blushing face delighted him. She had provided the respite, although brief that he needed in the serious business that had brought him to America.

As they exited the train, Foyle stepped out onto the platform first and reached up to help Rachel down the steps. Any notion of a graceful descent on her part was erased when she somehow managed to trip over her own two feet and fell out of the train. He managed to grab her and set her on her feet before she knocked him down.

She closed her eyes for a moment and mentally dared her body to show any signs of embarrassment. Finally, she looked up at him and sighed, "I did it again, didn't I?"

Foyle twisted his lip to the side for a few seconds and then responded, "No, you did something completely different. You nearly knocked me flat on the Union Station platform. Not…quite…the same."

"Uh, maybe it would be a good time to say "good bye" to each other and go our separate ways. Anyway, I've got to go get my luggage and look for a taxi. I just want to get to my hotel, I'm starving. Neglected to eat breakfast this morning." Just then her stomach growled, adding validity to her statement. She rolled her eyes and mentally cursed the digestive organ for not minding its own business. "Well good bye, Mr. Foyle. Hope all goes well for you while you're here." Before he could respond, she hurried off into the crowd.

He watched Rachel walked away, amazed at how fast the petite woman could move. Then he made his own way to pick up his luggage and find a taxi for himself.

Rain was falling as Rachel got to the taxi stand. It looked like she might not get one then and have to wait for who knew how long for the next one to arrive. The back passenger side door of the last taxi in line opened and a distinctive male voice called out, "Miss Roberts! Come get out of the rain."

Rachel hopped in the taxi so fast that she nearly landed in Foyle's lap before he moved over to give her room on the seat. "Thanks, I thought for sure I was gonna get soaked before another taxi came by."

The driver turned around to the couple and asked, "Where to folks?"

"The Hotel Harrington," Rachel and Foyle answered the driver simultaneously. They weren't going their separate ways just yet.

* * *

**Note-**The Hotel Harrington opened in 1914 and is still family owned and operated. It is located in an area between the U.S. Capitol and the White House.

* * *

**Mr. Foyle is intrigued by Rachel. It will be even harder for him to want to say good bye to her now he's gotten to know a little bit about her, even though she nearly knocks him down getting off the train!**

**Why is the hat so important to her? No doubt that question is on his mind.**

**Thanks so much for reading!**

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**FOYLE'S WA**_**R- FAUX PAS- CHAPTER 3**_

Disclaimer- _Foyle's War is the creation of Anthony Horowitz. It is brilliant television and the actors are wonderful. However, Rachel Roberts and Jimmy Dubose are products of my imagination._

* * *

"Miss Roberts, your room is 714. Mr. Foyle, you have 716." The desk clerk handed them their room keys and added, "I hope you have a pleasant stay."

As they followed the bellman to the elevator, Foyle thought, _"Could be a pleasant stay, quite pleasant indeed in Miss Robert's company." _The elevator doors closed and she looked up, giving him a bright smile, as if she'd read his mind.

That's all the encouragement he needed. "Care to have dinner with me, Miss Roberts?"

"Yes sir, that sounds just fine." Her eyebrows knitted together as a thought spun out in her mind. "_Is this a date? No…no…no! Mr. Foyle and I just met on the train and we happen to be staying at the same hotel…on the same floor- that's all. Not a date at all." _ Her face relaxed and she remained silent for the remainder of the elevator ride.

"_Mmm…that look on her face. Does she regret saying "yes" to dinner with me? Not exactly the effect on a woman you were looking for, was it Old Man? Does she think I might…?" _The elevator doors opened, interrupting his self interrogation.

Rachel was shown to her room first. Once alone, she flopped down on the bed while toeing off her shoes. Sinking down into a soft pillow, she placed her hands behind her head and told the ceiling, "Dinner with a man. Long time since I've done that._"_

_Saturday evening- December 6, 1941_

"_My sweet Rachel, smile for me- will ya?" Jimmy reinforced his request by running his thumb across her lips. "You know I've got to get back to the Arizona before my skipper sends out the Shore Patrol for me. He only gave me 12 hours shore leave today because I've got 48 hours coming to me next weekend for our wedding and a little honeymoon. I need your smile to tide me over until then." He chuckled and then added, "Besides, frowning is bad for the digestion."_

_Looking down at her half eaten hamburger and soggy fried potatoes, she sighed, "I suppose you're right." Rachel kissed Jimmy's fingers and then graced him with the smile he asked for. "Is that better Seaman Dubose?"_

_He leaned across the table and kissed her mouth, murmuring, "Oh yes, much better!" _

Foyle tossed his hat and coat on the bed before sitting down on its edge. He had a few free hours before dinner and while pondering what to do with them, an absent minded brush of his hand across his forehead provided him with a reminder of the eventful afternoon in the company of Rachel Roberts. Perhaps he should investigate the damage done when the two of them "bumped" into each other.

The mirror in the bathroom revealed very little in the way of an injury- no swelling or bruising. Instead he saw the face of a travel weary man who was beginning to wonder if the "accidental" meeting with the young woman would derail him from the purpose of his trip to the States. Rather than ponder the question, he decided to do something practical by taking a nap.

In the room adjacent to Foyle's, Rachel stood in front of the bathroom mirror making a similar "damage" assessment. There was a sizeable swelling in the middle of her forehead. "No amount of makeup in the world is gonna cover this up. I'm going to make a great looking dinner companion for Mr. Foyle!" Tears formed in her eyes, but brushed them away with her thumb. "Not going to cry! Not…going…to…cry! The only water I want to feel on me is bathwater!"

She turned on the taps full blast and quickly stripped off her clothes, leaving them in a pile on the bathroom floor. She stepped in the tub and slid down in the water up to her chin. Rachel closed her eyes and tried to relax, but her mind wouldn't let her. It took her from memories of Jimmy to the present and Mr. Foyle. _"Same hotel, same floor and rooms next to each other," _she mused rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and told the Almighty, "You've got an interesting sense of humor, Lord! Why did I meet Mr. Foyle?" In an accusatory tone she added, "Not playing matchmaker, are you? Really, the man's old enough to be my father and he's from the other side of the Atlantic. What are you playing at? That's what I'd like to know!"

No heavenly answer was forthcoming so Rachel completed her bath, put on make-up and then set about making a decision about what to wear. She didn't have many dresses to choose from. For over four years she'd worn the same ones and despite her best efforts they looked their age. Only one dress was an exception. It had never really been worn other than when she tried it on in the dress shop where she bought it. It was a long sleeved emerald green rayon dress with an embroidered bodice and dyed to match buttons. Jimmy had liked the way it looked on her so much that he insisted on buying her the hat to go with it; the hat that she thought she had lost on the train when it tumbled off her head.

The special occasion it was intended for never happened. It was the best one she owned and she would wear it that evening. Rachel put on the dress and smoothed and adjusted it to her satisfaction, her hands trembling. She then gave her dark auburn locks some attention by running a comb through them. The finishing touch was her hat that she made sure to secure with a hat pin, not wanting risk a chance of it falling off her head again. In the bedroom mirror she saw the image of a young woman smartly turned out, ready for dinner out and not for the occasion her dress had been intended for- her wedding day.

"_Rachel, are you sure that you don't want a big wedding with a gown, flowers, the works?"_

"_Yes Jimmy, I'm very sure. All I want is to be your wife, that's all that matters to me." _

As tears welled in her eyes Rachel fumbled in her handbag looking for her handkerchief; instead she found the wadded mess that had been Mr. Foyle's own handkerchief. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and told it fiercely, "Not gonna cry. Not…gonna…do…it."

The sun was setting when Foyle woke up from his nap. He called the front desk to get the time and found out that is was six thirty already! Sitting on the edge of the bed, he indulged in some stretching and yawning before trudging to the bathroom. One look in the mirror told him that he was in need of a shave.

The familiar routine of shaving gave him the opportunity to think about Rachel Roberts. What would they talk about during dinner? _"Don't really make small talk. Hmm…what if she asks me why I'm in America?" _He pursed his lips and studied his reflection in the mirror. "_Just have to take it as it comes." _Just then Foyle nicked his chin with the razor. He grunted in pain and held back a curse. The cut was bleeding out of proportion to its size. He grabbed a tiny piece of bathroom tissue and stuck it to the place where the razor had made a tiny slice in his chin. "Can't blame that on Miss Roberts. Self inflected injury."

After he'd put on a fresh shirt and tie, Foyle returned to the bathroom mirror for one last look at himself before he went to his dinner companion's room. By that time the cut on his chin had stopped bleeding and he peeled the tiny piece of bathroom tissue away with a sigh, "Ready as I'll ever be."

Rachel heard his footsteps in the hotel corridor and hurried to open the door before he even had a chance to knock. She looked up at him and her glistening eyes seemed enormous compared to the rest of her face. An underlying sadness was there as well. _"If I ask her what's wrong, would she tell me? Don't want to make her cry again."_

"Good evening, Mr. Foyle. Ready for dinner?" she stammered.

He pulled his lower lip inward for a second and then answered, "Yep. But you're not."

A puzzled Rachel Roberts looked at the coat and handbag over her arm and felt for the hat poised on her head. "_What is he talking about'? I'm dressed and have my coat and hat." _

Foyle pointed down at her stocking feet. "Shoes. Too cold outside to go without them."

After Rachel mentally kicked herself, she stammered, "Oh yeah, suppose I should put them on."

"Yep"

A quick search under her bed yielded the shoes. Rachel jammed her feet into them and a quick glance down told her she'd put them on properly. "_Thank Heaven for small favors. At least I put them on right way round!" _ She grabbed her handbag and turned to face him, endeavoring to gain her composure.

Foyle cleared his throat, a hint of a smile on his lips and asked, "Ready to go now, Miss Roberts?"

She nodded "yes" and stepped out into the corridor to join him. "_Well, I'm glad to amuse, Mr. Foyle. Can't seem to do anything else right when I'm around you." _

He pointed at her right arm. "Your coat. Might want to put it on before we go outside."

"Yes, I should."

Foyle took the coat from her and helped her in to it. She turned to face him and he found himself looking down into her eyes. It was a rare experience for a woman to literally look up to him and he lingered for a few seconds, studying her face. He knew nothing about her except her name and where she was from. More, he wanted to know more about her.

"_His face speaks volumes. Is he always so economical with words? I want to know something about him, but I'm afraid to ask. He seems so private." _Rachel unconsciously exhaled a long sigh at her thoughts about the man standing over her. For some reason she couldn't fathom, her heart started to gallop. _"Come on, get a grip Rachel. He's not going to eat you. It will be alright, you'll have a nice dinner and then…"_

Her thoughts trailed off when she felt the slightest touch of Foyle's hand on her arm and heard him say, "Ready, now?"

"Yes…uh…I am."

He smiled at her, not at first with his mouth, but with his eyes. She realized that if his lips never moved, the smile was there all the same and that comforted her in a way she couldn't explain.

The elevator ride and the trip through the lobby were silent until Rachel stopped and pointed at a sign that hung over the hotel bar. "Well, when somebody told me about this place, I thought they were kidding me. There really is a _Pink Elephant Cocktail Lounge. _Sounds appropriate- have too much to drink and you might see "pink elephants"."

"Yep."

She turned to face Foyle and laughed, "O.K., Gary Cooper. Let's go get some grub."

He reacted to her calling him by the film star's name with a raised eyebrow and a twist of his lips. "_Never heard Sam compare me to a film star. Nothing like Mr. Cooper. Must ask where she gets the idea from. Something to talk about at dinner." _ He pulled the brim of his trilby over his twinkling eyes and told Rachel, "Yep."

* * *

**Notes-****Yes, there really was a **_**Pink Elephant Cocktail Lounge **_**at the Hotel Harrington. It opened in 1940 and** became a popular gathering place, famous during World War II. It closed in 1986.

I just couldn't resist the Gary Cooper reference- Christopher Foyle's monosyllabic answers of "yep" and "nup" reminds me little bit of some of the characters that Mr. Cooper played in a great many films- men of high morals and few words who always win the day.

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**Rachel has memories that trouble her. Will she tell Mr. Foyle about them at dinner or at the very least, will she explain why she called him Gary Cooper?**

**Thanks for reading. Please review if you're so inclined. More to come.**


	4. Chapter 4

**FOYLE'S WAR- FAUX PAS- CHAPTER 4**

**Disclaimer**- _Foyle's War is the creation of Anthony Horowitz. It is brilliant television and the actors are wonderful. However, Rachel Roberts is my own creation._

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As Foyle studied Rachel's face while she stared down at her menu, he thought she was the picture of concentration with her brows knit together and a slight frown shaping her lips. The exception was her hands; with the left one she pinned the menu to the table as if it might blow away and the right one was planted over her knife and spoon, which she fiddled with incessantly.

"_Don't frown, it's just dinner, not a life or death decision. Oh, for God's sake, stop fussing with the silverware!" _ He was about to clear his throat or say something to get her to stop fiddling with her knife and spoon when the waiter arrived to take their orders. After Foyle gave his order, the waiter turned to Rachel.

"And you, Miss?" he asked the young woman who was still staring at her menu. He waited a few seconds and then asked, "Um Miss, what would you like to order?"

"_Poor old sod, he'll stand here all night waiting on Miss Roberts to answer him. Better help him out." _Foyle gently touched her right hand to get her attention.

Rachel simultaneously jumped and let out a strangled scream, "Great gosh almighty, Mr. Foyle! What are you doing? Trying to give me heart failure? "

He managed not to smile, but his eyes betrayed the amusement he felt. Foyle inclined his head in the waiter's direction to let her know that the poor man was waiting to take her order.

Her face slowly turned crimson, starting at her chin and working its way up to her cheeks. _"Well damn it all. I did it again! Made an absolute fool of myself. I have no clue what was on that menu, but I'll take a stab in the dark and order chicken. Surely they have that here." _

"I'll have the chicken," Rachel stammered.

"Very good miss." The waiter grinned at her and then took the menus, heading toward the kitchen to turn in their orders. She watched him walk away until he disappeared behind the kitchen doors. Now she had no choice but face her dinner companion, which she did with great reluctance.

"Miss Roberts, are you alright?"

Rachel let out a long sigh and absentmindedly ran her fingers through her hair. "Guess you think I'm an idiot. There… I said it. Been wondering what you thought of me since we "met" today on the train."

The corners of his lips lifted in a nearly imperceptible smile. "Don't think you're an idiot. Nervous, perhaps?"

Rachel blurted out her answer, "YesIfeelnervousaroundyou." The second the words left her mouth, she regretted them. "I'm sorry Mr. Foyle, I shouldn't have said that."

"S'alright. You're just telling the truth. Nothing wrong with that. I'm a stranger to you… and you were traveling alone. Shows you've got some common sense to be wary of me."

"_How can I explain to him that I'm not nervous around him because he's a stranger or because I was traveling to Washington on my own? It's because…because… for the first time in years that I felt…" _Rachel preempted her thoughts, looked into the depths of his blue eyes and simply told him, "I trust you."

Rachel's response seemed quite earnest. He wondered if she was more than a little naïve and it bothered him to think of anyone taking advantage of her trusting nature.

"Now, that being said Mr. Foyle, you have me at a disadvantage."

A puzzled expression crossed his face. "_First she declares she trusts me and then she tells me I have her at a disadvantage." _His eyes widened and he tilted his head slightly before asking, "In what way?"

"Well, for one thing you know my first and last name and where I'm from. I only know your last name and your accent tells me you're from somewhere in England. A little more detail would be appreciated."

A little more detail is just what she received when he answered, "First name's Christopher and my home is Hastings."

"Oh, I see. Hastings as in the Battle of… and 1066?"

"Yep."

Rachel silently gave thanks that she'd been paying attention in History class when she was in school. "By the way, sir, I would never presume to call you by your given name. The joke where I'm from is that you always say 'sir' or 'ma'am' to someone five minutes older than you."

This revelation of Southern custom amused him and he thought, _"Well, I'm considerably more than five minutes older than Miss Roberts. Wonder if she considers me ancient?"_

She leaned forward and propped her chin in her hand, "Hmm…dare I ask another question of you, sir?"

Foyle shrugged and nodded ascent to another query from the young woman.

"Why are you here in the States? Is it business or pleasure?" She paused and then added, "Or… you can tell me I'm being too nosey."

Now it was up to Christopher Foyle to reveal the purpose of his trip to America. _"How much should I tell her_? _Probably as little as possible without outright lying to her. Yes, I'm here on business, but now there's a little pleasure to be had just being in her company for a little while. Wouldn't want to spoil it."_

He settled on the simplest answer he could give. "Business." Foyle then asked Rachel a similar question, hoping at the very least to keep her from digging any deeper about his reason for being in America. "And what brings you to Washington?"

"A job. I'm going to work for Senator Maybank, he's from Charleston. I'll be the most junior of his clerical staff and that occasionally I might be asked to work for another senator when Senator Maybank doesn't need me. Trying to remember his name…let me see…Parks…no…Parker….Palmer…uh… I remember now; his name is Paige and he's from Pennsylvania."

Foyle endeavored to maintain a neutral expression on his face at the news that Rachel might come in contact with Howard Paige. He quickly filed this information away in his mind- now was not the time to give details about his visit to the States. Maybe he shouldn't tell her at all. _"Perhaps I should tell her that I can't see her anymore after tonight. Don't want her entangled in my affairs. It would probably hurt her feelings, but that's better than getting her involved in something that's none of her concern. I'll make an excuse for not seeing her again when we return to the hotel."_ Now the struggle began between wanting to keep Rachel safe by not involving her in his unfinished business with Howard Paige and his desire to have the continued pleasure of her company.

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"You don't mind walking back to the hotel? I could hail a taxi."

Rachel laughed and patted her stomach. "No, I don't mind walking. I ate way more than I should have. Besides, I'm used to walking long distances. Did a lot of it during the War. Daddy gave up driving his car and gave his gasoline and tire coupons to our minister so he was able to take care of parish business and make visitations to the sick. Only problem with Daddy's generosity was that there was always a struggle to have enough coupons for shoes. Sure wore out a lot of shoe leather walking so much."

"I would imagine so," Foyle responded. "Lots of people did the same thing here and in Britain."

"Did you, sir?"

"_Certainly did my share of walking, but travelled a lot by car." _Sam Stewart's bright smiling face and her question "where to sir?" came to mind.

"Well… probably not as much as you. Had a driver."

"A driver? Why? What kind of work did you do during the War?" Rachel decided to stop worrying about whether or not he would answer her questions; she would ask anyway. She'd spent just enough time with him to realize that he wouldn't give her personal information unless he wanted her to know it.

They walked another block before he answered her. "Police work."

"Oh, you must've been high ranking to have a driver."

Not willing to give her details about his rank or work, he simply told her, "Don't like driving."

"Never heard a man say he didn't like driving a car. Guess there's a first time for everything."

"Yep."

They continued on in a companionable silence for several blocks, both of them lost in their own thoughts until Rachel caught the toe of her right shoe in a crack in the pavement. She landed face down with a thud and remained motionless for a full minute before she sobbed "dammit!"

Foyle knelt down and took her hand, slowly pulling her up until she was standing. Without a second thought, he brushed away blood that trickled down her cheek with his thumb. Unconsciously, Rachel leaned against his hand, taking in the comfort of his touch. Yes, she trusted him. He now had no doubt.

"Are you alright?"

Realizing that his hand was still on her cheek, she backed away from him an inch before she looked up and said, "Yes, just a scratch on my cheek and a ruined stocking. I'll be fine."

"_Question is, will I?" _ Christopher Foyle still had no clearer picture about what to do about Rachel Roberts than he did before dinner.

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**A/N- **My mom was a little girl when the United States entered the Second World War. In discussing her memories about the War, she shared with me that my grandfather gave up his car during the war so their pastor could make use of the extra gasoline and tire coupons for it.

Senator Burnet R. Maybank served in the U.S. Congress from November 1, 1941- September 1, 1954. He was the mayor of Charleston from 1931-1938 and governor of South Carolina from 1938- 1941.

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**How is Chri****stopher Foyle going to deal with the knowledge that Rachel will most likely come in contact with Howard Paige, the very man he is pursuing?**

**Please pardon the brevity of this chapter. More to come.**

**Once again, I want to express my appreciation to everyone who reads this little effort. Reviews are also very much appreciated!**


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